


Five Buttons Extras

by Thorinsmut



Series: Five Buttons [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place to put the little pieces of headcannon that didn't make it into the completed Five Buttons fic.<br/>I can promise fluff and cuteness.<br/>The rating may change down the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. West over the Misty Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> "It was well-known that, if you wanted to cross West over the Misty Mountains, and do it fast, you traveled with Bofur. The miner and toymaker held the unofficial speed record for the trip… and tended to improve upon the time from year to year."  
> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/41555599609/west-over-the-misty-mountains

**West over the Misty Mountains**

It was well before the gray twilight of dawn, the small group of Dwarves met… merchants and miners, most of them… just outside the great gates of Erebor.  
“Are we all ready?” Bofur asked, pacing a bit, settling his long-eared hat on his head, adjusting his pack. There was a ragged chorus of aye’s in response, and he nodded, eyes glowing, a feral grin on his face.  
“We travel fast and light. There will be little rest for you, and none at all for me, until we’re on the other side… keep your eyes sharp and your weapons handy, and above all keep your feet light!” Without further ado, Bofur turned and set a blistering pace out across the valley, his companions struggling for a bit before catching up.  
It was well-known that, if you wanted to cross West over the Misty Mountains, and do it fast, you traveled with Bofur. The miner and toymaker held the unofficial speed record for the trip… and tended to improve upon the time from year to year.  
The youngest of the group, a merchant’s son by the name of Nar, had heard, of course, that it was a brutal trip with Bofur… who pushed everyone right up to the edge of their endurance and sometimes a bit beyond.. but he’d not quite believed it. He knew Bofur in passing, and had never met a more laid-back and friendly Dwarf. He caught up to one of the older Dwarves, who had traveled with Bofur before.  
“Does he always set such a fast pace?” He asked, puffing slightly.  
The older Dwarf smacked him on the shoulder companionably, “Oh no, lad.” He smiled, “Most of the time we’ll be walking much faster.”

Nar had never been so exhausted in his entire life. He was sore in parts of him he’d never known he had, and cold all the way through to his bones, and he was incredibly tired of eating _cram_.  
Every day followed the same pattern. They woke before the sun, ate _cram_ and water as they walked… walked some more… walked some more, ate some more _cram_ while walking, walked and walked and walked over the rough terrain with their heavy packs on their backs, and then, well after the sun had set, they sat down in some tiny amount of shelter or another in the Mountains, wrapped themselves in their cloaks, ate some _cram_ , and went to sleep without a fire.  
The young merchant cursed his foolishness for ever having signed on to come with Bofur. Yes, he did need to get to the other side of the Misty Mountains for his father’s business… and yes, he had needed to do it quickly… but the miner was insane, Nar was more and more certain by the day. He smiled at everyone, and cracked jokes, and sometimes played his flute… but there was something a little off all the same. A brittle edge to the smile with too many teeth, a sharpness to his laughter… and when he played his flute it was in endless repetitions, faster and faster… the musical equivalent of pacing… and Bofur did plenty of pacing too, when everyone else was too exhausted to move in the evening, his eyes straining West as though he could make it come quicker by staring at it.  
He was always the last to bed down, and the first to be up, and he never seemed to be tired.  
As busy as he was meditating on his own exhaustion and the probable insanity of droopy-mustached miners, Nar did not notice the Goblin lurking in the twilit dark until it was almost on top of him.  
Quick as thought, his hammer was in his hand and he shouted to his companions as he blocked the Goblin’s blow… merchant’s son though he might be, he was still a Dwarf.  
It was a small group of Goblins, their numbers still had not recovered after the Battle of Five Armies, it was said.  
Within moments the rest of the Dwarves also had their weapons in hand, launching an offensive against the Goblins… and at the lead Bofur, a wild light in his eyes as he crashed into the Goblins, swinging wildly with his mining mattock, smashing in heads left and right.  
The Goblins decided they were outmatched quickly and scattered into the dark, and the Dwarves gathered together on the path.  
“Anybody injured?” Bofur asked, wiping the Goblin blood from his mattock. Everybody said no, and the miner nodded.  
“Good… no time to loose.” He marched off, if possible even faster than he’d been going before. Everyone struggled to catch up.  
“He’s… he _really_ is mad…” Nar gasped to one of the other Dwarves, and the old-timer laughed breathlessly.  
“Oh, aye… took you this long to work that out?”

Nar had assumed that, once they were away from the dangers of the Misty Mountains, Bofur would slow the pace so they could all recover.  
Instead, with the worst of the rough terrain behind them, the pace increased.  
They took roads only sometimes… instead cutting across hills and through woods. They met no other travelers, and they never stopped at an inn for a good night’s sleep and real food.  
They might have hunted rabbits or pheasants, as they walked, but since they still did not make fires at night they could not have cooked them.  
Nar did not think he would ever be able to look a piece of _cram_ in the face again.  
Even the most stoic of the Dwarves who had traveled with Bofur before were beginning to grumble.  
“It’s good and well for _him_.” one would grumble, “He’ll be feasting on cream n’ honey at the end of the journey, I hear…” and he would give a knowing look around the exhausted group, which Nar wouldn’t dare not pretend to understand… they already made fun of him for his youth, when they had the energy.  
“I heard it was sausages he’s going after.” someone else might comment…  
“…and young veal, at that…” someone else might pipe up, to many raised eyebrows, and Nar would pretend to understand, but he was lost. Why should he be care what Bofur was going to eat?  
“Well, regardless… what have _we_ to look forward to but mines and business? It’s good and well for _him_ to run himself ragged, but why us?”  
“…we did sign on with him of our own accord…” Nar defended, despite his exhaustion, and there were a few shrugs and nods.  
“I always forget how he gets… or maybe he gets worse every year…” one of the old-timers sighed. “Nobody would expect us to get over the Mountains so fast if he didn’t do it _every_ damn spring.”

Nar did not realize the significance of the morning when Bofur took only three meals worth of _cram_ into his pack and divided the rest among them. He was too tired to pay any attention to it… and none of the old-timers said anything about it… though they did seem to be in good spirits.  
They came over the top of a little hill and onto a small road near mid-day.  
“Bree’s that way.” Bofur gestured, smiling at them with that smile that was a little too big, his eyes shining a little too bright, “I wish you luck.” he bobbed his head, and then spun, jogging across the road, and into the trees of the other side, quickly disappearing from sight.  
“What… what is…” Nar floundered as the rest of the companions sank to the ground, dropping their packs and groaning.  
“He’s gone, lad.” one of the old-timers soothed, “sit yourself down before you collapse.” and Nar obeyed, settling himself comfortably on the side of the road.  
“Just like that?” he asked, feeling a touch abandoned.  
“Aye, every year.” another companion agreed, “Off to see his Love… somewhere out there in the Hobbit lands…”  
“Rest yourselves.” the most experienced of the companions urged, “nap for a few hours, we’ll get to Bree in time for supper… I swear that inn has the best stew in the world…”  
There were hopeful sighs among the companions, and they rested.

Bilbo stood beaming by the front gate as Bofur tromped up to it… he’d been outside enjoying a late evening smoke and had seen the Dwarf coming up the hill.  
Wordlessly they threw companionable arms around one another’s shoulders as they walked up to the door. Bofur put his mattock by the door… and took off his boots under Bilbo’s sharp eyes… and then they let themselves in the round door.  
They were kissing the instant the door closed behind them, Bilbo’s fingers weaving through Bofur’s braids while the Dwarf cradled Bilbo’s face in his rough hands.  
“Bilbo… Bilbo…” Bofur was breathless between kisses, “I missed you… _so much_ …” Bilbo answered in tiny moans as they kissed deep, and long… and then they finally broke apart, flushed and panting.  
“Bofur…” Bilbo’s voice was warm as he ran his hands over his love, but there was a tiny line of worry between his brows, “You’re too thin again! Let’s get you fed first, hmm…?”  
“Won’t argue with that.” Bofur grinned, putting down his pack and slinging his arm around his Hobbit’s shoulders as they made their way to the pantry.

Bilbo was setting the dishes to soak… he’d sent Bofur to get changed to take a bath… when he heard the first snore rumble through the house.  
He laughed quietly to himself as he dried his hands and went to find his Dwarf. Bofur was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard… only mostly undressed.  
With the ease of practice, Bilbo divested Bofur of the rest of his clothes and got him tucked into bed… the Dwarf’s snores never slackened, he was completely dead to the world.  
“Oh my Bofur…” Bilbo kissed his love’s forehead, “How long has it been since you got a full night’s sleep?”


	2. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur is a born wanderer. He doesn’t really settle anywhere. He can’t, and Bilbo understands that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/41726559257/tea

He heard it… quiet… just on the edge of hearing…  
 _-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-_  
Bilbo closed his eyes, leaning against the counter, clutching his teacup tight in hands gone shaky. Already? So soon?  
 _-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-_  
The Hobbit put the teacup slowly down on the counter, took a second matching up out of the cabinet, and poured the tea into both. He sweetened the second cup with honey to Bofur’s taste, leaving his own plain.  
 _-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-_  
He crept silently out of the kitchen, peeked into the sunny nook where Bofur was waiting…  
The Dwarf looked clean and sharp, his long brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, fastened with a finely worked gold clasp… he was wearing a white shirt, green braces, and Hobbit-style short pants, his feet bare… one foot up on the edge of the comfortable armchair. His long mustache with it’s luxurious swoop was neatly groomed, waxed and gleaming… in short, he was so handsome Bilbo could feel his breath shudder to a stop, his stomach clenching just to _look_ at him.  
…but that wasn’t all… he was gnawing absently on a fingernail, his eyes straining out the window, a little line of worry between his brows… and the foot on the floor was fidgeting, tapping out the frantic rhythm on the hardwood.  
 _-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-_  
Bilbo brought the tea in, gently pulling Bofur’s abused nail out of his mouth, kissing the fingertip lightly before handing Bofur his cup and settling himself to sit on the floor, leaning his head against his Dwarf’s knees, placing a hand on the fidgeting foot to still it.  
“ ‘m sorry.” Bofur mumbled sipping his tea. Bilbo rubbed his cheek against the Dwarf’s knee, smiling up at him. It was to be expected… with all his toys sold and spring quickly aging into summer, it was more than time for the Dwarf to be moving on to the Blue Mountains.  
“How soon do we leave?” Bilbo asked.  
Bofur’s eyes crinkled up as his face broke into the hugest smile, “You’ll come with me?” his voice was full of such hope that Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh.  
“If you’ll have me.” He answered.  
Bofur put his tea on the windowsill, cradling Bilbo’s face with both hands as he leaned down to kiss him long and deep… tasting of honey and tea, the roughness of his beard against Bilbo’s own smooth chin intoxicating.  
The Hobbit made a little noise, trying to put down his tea safely without breaking the kiss… Bofur took the cup and set it on the windowsill, only spilling a little of it, their lips never parting.


	3. Pillow talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo tends to... say things... when in the throes of passion.  
> Bofur likes to tease him about it afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/42028288895/pillow-talk

Bofur was chuckling, sprawled out on the bed, Bilbo laying curled into his side… this was nothing new. Bofur often laughed during and after their lovemaking… but there was something… a different tone to it…  
Bilbo fought through the pleasure haze to look up at his Dwarf, and the way the miner grinned down at him confirmed it.  
“…I did it again, didn’t I?” He groaned, burying his face in Bofur’s shoulder.  
“I think I’ve got a new favorite.” Bofur laughed, gently running his hand down the Hobbit’s back.  
“…oh, no…” Bilbo sighed… “what did I say this time?”  
“Oh, not much… just ‘your tongue is a thousand times more beautiful than the light of the Valar.’” Bofur stuck his tongue out, trying to look at it while Bilbo groaned in shame, “We’d best not tell the Elves… they’d probably try to steal me from you.” Bofur laughed.  
“It’s not funny!” Bilbo protested, running his hand over the furry, muscular stomach of his laughing Dwarf. “One day I’ll figure out how to… not say things…”  
“Don’t you dare even try.” Bofur gave the Hobbit a squeeze, “Besides… who could resist when they’re making love to ‘Aule’s Hammer made flesh?’” he gestured down at himself grandly.  
“Stop it!” Bilbo protested, punching the Dwarf… but with his limbs still weak from pleasure it had no effect, “I’ll never live that one down, will I?”  
“No.” Bofur agreed happily.  
Bilbo cuddled in tighter, “You’re evil.” he complained.  
The Dwarf kissed the messy curls on the top of his head, “That’s not what you were saying earlier…”  
“I just wish I didn’t say such… _blasphemous_ things…” Bilbo muttered into Bofur’s chest.  
“I like it.” Bofur assured him, giving the Hobbit another squeeze, “Who _doesn’t_ want to be told they’re so perfect the Maiar cast them to Middle Earth from jealousy?”  
Bilbo sat up in bed, indignant that his most embarrassing lapse had been brought up. Bofur laughed up at him, his hair spread in a messy halo around his head.  
“Oh, no more talking for you!” Bilbo growled, grabbing a handful of the Dwarf’s thick hair close to his scalp and kissing him roughly.  
Bofur responded eagerly, his arms coming up to cradle the Hobbit… but even though his mouth was stopped so the sound couldn’t get out, he was still shaking with laughter.


	4. Mining Settlement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo came with Bofur to visit the miners in the Blue Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/42060010171/mining-settlement

If it weren’t for his ears, he wouldn’t have been recognizable as a Hobbit at all… and with the constantly dim half-light and his hair grown so long and unruly… he was constantly mistaken for a Dwarf child.  
It was to be expected, really… he was the only Hobbit who’d ever gone under the Blue Mountains… and even the few Dwarves who were familiar with Hobbits wouldn’t usually recognize one who was dressed from head to toe like a Dwarf.  
It only took having his foot stepped on by a heavy-shod Dwarf once, digging his bare sole into the sharp rock shards constantly underfoot, for Bilbo to decide that boots were a sensible precaution when living in a mining settlement… and it was cold, so deep underground, so he wore layers and layers of clothes… and he had on his little pieces of armor, of course… delicate but strong vambraces and greaves of leather for his arms and legs, with little daggers tucked into them… it made him feel more comfortable around the heavily-armed Dwarves to be similarly armed, and more than once he had been glad to have some protection if a drunkard took a swing at him – something to deflect the blow with before he slipped away… even in boots he was still light on his feet.  
So it was completely understandable that most Dwarves immediately took him for a child… it was completely to be expected that the traveling merchants at the market would tell him to shoo, to ask him if his mother was going to pay for the things he was picking out for his dinner.  
He smiled, and corrected, and bought his food, and took it back to the cave house he shared with the Dwarf he loved.  
Outside, it might look like any of the other houses in this sunless place, but inside it was cozy and bright, far more brightly lit than most of the Dwarf dwellings, with cheerfully colorful hangings on the walls. His boots and armor came off the instant he was inside, but he kept on his two layers of wool socks… it was always so cold underground!  
He set about making a big dinner, humming a little tune. Bofur was bringing home a handful of Blue Mountain miners for dinner, and he knew what sort of appetite Dwarves had! He puttered around the house, keeping himself busy, making everything perfect… making sure there was nothing easily ruined out on display.  
And if his humming had a desperate undertone, there was nobody around to hear it.

Bofur had his arms around the shoulders of two of the miners he’d been working with that day. He felt good, the mines of the Blue Mountains were not nearly so rich as those in Erebor, but they felt like home… the rock felt _right_ , and with Bilbo waiting for him at home at the end of every day, he had everything he could ever ask for. Everyone was laughing and talking, tired from a good day’s work and eager to reach his house… he may have talked up Bilbo’s cooking a _little_ bit, but he knew the Hobbit wouldn’t disappoint… in fact, as they approached the house, he could catch the stomach-tickling scent of baked goods.  
“Mind your manners, lads.” He reminded, “Bilbo’s little, but don’t you forget he’s the Hobbit who laughed at a dragon to his face, and lived!”  
“Not recommended, laughing at dragons.” Bilbo was leaning in the doorway, “I still have scars on my heels from the fire.”  
The Dwarves quieted, suddenly star-struck to be in the presence of Bilbo Baggins… _the Bilbo Baggins_ … who, as the stories would tell, was mainly responsible for the reclaiming of Erebor.  
“Bilbo!” Bofur released the miners he’d been walking with and sprang forward to give Bilbo a hug and a gentle head-bump, showing that Bilbo was _normal_ , to be treated just like any Dwarf… just maybe a _little_ more gently.  
“Come on in!” Bilbo invited, smiling at the dirty miners, “Dinner’s waiting.” He disappeared back into the house, and Bofur and the miners followed… nothing like the prospect of food to make anyone get over nerves.  
Once their eyes adjusted to the brightness of the little house, the Dwarves settled in as though it was their own home, Bilbo ordering them about, having them carry the food from the kitchen to the table, sending a few of them back into the pantry for a small barrel of ale.  
Jokes were told, food was thrown, a healthy quantity of ale was drunk (and spilled), and all in all it was a very satisfying dinner party. Bilbo joined in on all the merriment and it wasn’t long before the Dwarves were treating him just like one of them… it made Bofur happy to see his Hobbit enjoying himself.  
When things had settled down, and the dishes had been done in a communal frenzy that still made Bilbo flinch despite himself, it was the time for stories and songs.  
Bilbo abstained from telling any stories, content to jump in and correct Bofur’s tales – especially if his doing so would make Bofur look silly, and he joined in on what songs he knew, singing tenor with the lady miners while the rest of sang baritone.  
It was not _too_ late when the miners excused themselves, they had another hard day’s work to look forward to on the morrow.  
Bilbo settled himself beside Bofur, leaning against the Dwarf with a sigh. Bofur redid his Hobbit’s braids – his curly hair always fought to escape… and they shared a quiet smoke, Bilbo making a disparaging comment on the quality of Dwarven leaf in a tone that sounded much more like habit than sentiment.  
Bofur told Bilbo his adventures of the day, how they had begun to open a new vein that looked very promising… any particularly funny incidents that had happened, and Bilbo laughed in all the right places.  
Bofur finally decided it was time for bed, “Let’s clean this mess up and turn in.” he smiled, standing, knowing that, while the miners had cleaned up after themselves, things were still not _nearly_ up to Hobbit standards.  
There was a pause… a small thing… Bilbo sitting staring at his hands folded in his lap… before he looked up and matched Bofur’s smile with one that didn’t reach all the way through his eyes.  
“That sounds good!” Bilbo said, his voice a little too light.  
Bofur sat down slowly… took his Hobbit’s hands with one hand while he cradled the side of Bilbo’s face with his other hand… and really _looked_ at him.  
His skin, always pale, was practically transparent, little blue veins visible through it… dark shadows under his eyes… his lips just slightly pinched, cheekbones a little too prominent for a face that should be round. Bilbo tried to turn his face away from Bofur’s scrutiny, but the Dwarf wouldn’t have it, and the Hobbit finally dropped his eyes down to their hands, shoulders hunched.  
“Oh, Bilbo…” Bofur said, softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He cursed himself for not realizing sooner… what kind of a monster was he to keep a Hobbit underground through the entire summer? And not even in a well-lit city like Erebor… to keep a Hobbit locked away in the dark of an unlit mining settlement, could anything be more cruel?  
“It’s not too bad, not yet!” Bilbo tried, but his voice trembled, and Bofur drew him in for a hug, resting his cheek on the top of Bilbo’s braided hair, breathing in the Hobbit’s scent of fresh-mown hay… oh, he could dress him up like a little Dwarf but he would never be one, would he? Bilbo always knew when Bofur had to leave the Shire, he could always tell when the stifling clean, safe, proper, _politeness_ was driving Bofur insane… but Bofur couldn’t tell the opposite. He was always so slow to pick up when the Hobbit was craving sunlight, when he needed fresh air and soft fields and sharing tea over a lace tablecloth…  
Bofur would never forget the first time he’d brought the Hobbit to the Blue Mountains, and even though they were in a larger, better-lit town it had still worn on Bilbo, who bore it in stoic silence so that Bofur was oblivious to his suffering until the day he came home to find that Bilbo hadn’t gotten out of bed that day, had curled himself into a catatonic ball of misery and would not move… how startled he’d been when he realized how skinny the Hobbit had become, he’d obviously not been eating well for days or weeks…  
He’d had to _carry_ him out of the mountain into the air and sunlight, and it had taken weeks to strengthen him enough that he could travel home to the Shire… He had sworn he would never let his Hobbit suffer like that again, but here he was, suffering in silence.  
“Give me a couple days to wrap things up.” Bofur said quietly, “And we’ll go.”  
Bilbo sniffled quietly against Bofur’s neck, “I’m sorry.” He whispered, “I know you’re happy here, I’m so sorry I’m not…”  
“Shh…” Bofur soothed, “I’m only happy if you’re happy.” he stroked his Hobbit’s back, “It’ll be early fall outside, I love traveling in that season, cold enough to cuddle at night, warm enough to play during the day… we’ll get back to the shire in time to stock your pantry with harvest for the winter… and you know I’d _never_ miss the opportunity to get some of the new harvest of Longbottom Leaf…”  
Bilbo laughed wetly, “…liar… you hate Longbottom Leaf…”  
“Better than Old Toby.” He contended, and Bilbo poked him hard in the side as punishment.  
“You _know_ Old Toby is the best.” Bilbo defended his favorite variety, and Bofur smiled to have moved Bilbo’s thoughts to a happier track. They had a friendly argument about the merits of various varieties of pipe-weed while they cleaned the house before they went to bed.

Three days later Bilbo had woken before him and snuck out of their bed with typical Hobbit stealth. Bofur dressed himself and went to find him.  
Bilbo was arranging the last few things into his pack… making sure it was all balanced and things he would want sooner were easily accessible. Bofur leaned in the doorway to admire his Hobbit dressed all in leather and furs, gleaming knife hilts behind his vambraces, his hair done up in beads and braids… funny that a Hobbit should make the comeliest Dwarf he’d ever seen…  
Bilbo bounced a few times in his oversized boots, stretching this way and that to make sure his equipment was all comfortable, smiling hugely when he spotted Bofur was up.  
“Packed and ready!” he practically chirped.  
Bofur was about to suggest breakfast first… but he saw something in his Hobbit’s eyes, a hint of the desperation he imagined others saw in his own eyes when he had been somewhere too long and needed to _go_.  
“Let me get my cloak, we’ll eat on the road.” He said, turning to throw on the last of his travel clothes on as quickly as possible, wrapping up the blankets into a bedroll, which he affixed to the top of his pack… and everything was ready. Bilbo already packed up the house in the previous few days, most of the furnishings to be sold, but some to be left for the next renter… it was an unwelcoming looking place now, no longer a home.  
Soon, soon they would be back in the Shire, back in cozy Bag End, and Bofur smiled to think of that. He was very fond of it, really… and he was a wanderer at heart. It wouldn’t do to settle in some tiny mining settlement, to small to even have a proper name… and he was a hero of Erebor, what need had he of a miner’s pay? He had done what Dain Ironfoot had sent him to do, to work with the miners in the Blue Mountains, to figure out what they needed most, what the best way to trade with them was… and when he could not bear the Shire for another second… he _was_ missing Bombur and Bifur and his little nieces and nephews in Erebor terribly.  
Yes, this was best… and Bilbo would be happy.  
They set a quick pace on the long winding path up and out of the mountain.  
Late that afternoon when they finally stepped out into the sunlight he watched the tension that had built up in his Hobbit over the long dark months leave him in an instant – Bilbo throwing his arms out to the sun in shouted laughter, spinning round and round, jumping and laughing like a child as he practically danced down the trail.  
Bofur laughed himself as he followed behind, picking up Bilbo’s discarded boots and securing them safely to his pack.  
Bilbo planted a huge sloppy kiss on Bofur’s cheek, tucking a flower behind the Dwarf’s ear, before dancing off again, singing a Hobbit nonsense song.  
And the world was beautiful.


	5. Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is in the Shire,  
> Bofur is wintering in Erebor,  
> They still manage to be adorable with each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/42131497825/midwinter

Bilbo reverently unwrapped the tiny leather bundle, pausing to breathe in the familiar scent of the pipe weed, a sad tinge to his smile.  
He dressed warmly and went outside, to a comfortable bench facing East, checking a nearby sundial before he filled his pipe… setting a match to it at precisely noon on Midwinter’s day…

Bofur leaned against the bulwarks of one of the gates leading West out of the Mountain… he unwrapped his own little leather bundle, glad there was nobody to see his face as he breathed in the scent… filling his pipe, and waiting until the shadows looked like noon before setting it alight.

Blue Mountain Dwarvish pipe weed had a bite to it… a sharpness on the tip of the tongue… It tasted like Bofur. Bilbo breathed a big cloud of it out in the direction of his heart, his love… watched the shapes in the smoke… memories of wrapping his body around Bofur’s big furry frame, burying his face in the thick rough hair that smelled _just like this_ … memories of sharing laughter, stories, and songs with the miners deep under the Blue Mountains, leaning against his Dwarf and the smoke in his mouth tasting _just_ like this…

Old Toby, smooth on the tongue but bitter in the throat… it smelled like Bag End. Bofur blew a smoke ring in the direction of the one he loved… it was a little rough, he hadn’t quite gotten it down yet, but he was trying… remembering his Hobbit’s laugh as he taught him the trick of it, watching the way Bilbo’s lips moved until he couldn’t _stand_ it any more and kissed him – the smoke spilling between their mouths that tasted like _this_ … remembering how it felt to step into Bag End after a long trip, the warm smell of earth and wood and Old Toby and knowing there would always be something good to eat and a Hobbit to cuddle…

A single pipe does not take long to smoke… and a single pipe’s worth was all they had… They held their last pull of it as long as they could before blowing it out, East and West, to one another.

Bofur rubbed at his eyes with his knitted mitts, laughing a little at himself… silly old miner crying at the gates… before he made his way back into the mountain.

Bilbo walked back into Bag End, the scent of Bofur’s favorite pipe weed surrounding him like a cloak…

Bombur’s children swarmed him when he came home, sniffing him and asking why he smelled funny… but soon enough Bombur and Bifur gathered the children up and left him alone. Bofur took out the thin piece of vellum he’d gotten from Ori, and a quill, and sat at the kitchen table with a lamp. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he slowly and painstakingly wrote a short letter in his blocky hand… carefully setting the ink before he rolled it up and placed it in it’s little waterproof case and left again.  
The master of the Ravens was waiting for him, and, after carefully explaining the destination, sent his letter out on the back of an adventurous young Raven.  
Not just anyone could send a letter by Raven… mostly they were reserved for royal business… but for one of the heroes of Erebor an exception was made. Once a winter he could send a letter by Raven.

Bilbo wrote, in small even letters, on the front and back of the little square of vellum that wouldn’t be too heavy for a fast-flying Raven… and then waited.  
It was a week later when he heard the rough cawing and a tapping at his windows. He rushed outside to greet the Raven, offering it some leftover fish as he read Bofur’s message, then replaced it with his own letter and, thanking the Raven, sent it on it’s way.  
He sat by the fire, reading and rereading Bofur’s letter, smiling as his fingers traced the shapes of the letters… for someone who did not write easily to take the time to write to him…  
He felt warm all the way to the tips of his hairy toes.

It was two and a half weeks after midwinter when Bofur came home to find a little waterproof case waiting for him, Bombur’s wife handed it to him, smiling, and kept the children away as he puzzled it out at the table, lips moving as he pieced together the words and sentences until he had the meaning of it in his head and he smiled.  
In a few more months the low passes through the Misty Mountains would be clear and he could go be with his Hobbit again.  
Until then… he took his letter into his room and placed it beside the bed so he could read it whenever he wanted.

My Dearest Bofur,  
I miss you more than I can say, but not enough that Blue Mountain leaf tastes good. I don’t know what you see in it. It has been a mild winter here. Do you think the same is true of the mountains between us? If so, the passes might open early… Please give my love to your family and the rest of the Company in Erebor, I think I will have to come with you to visit the Mountain again one of these years soon. I miss your smile and your laugh, I miss your stories and your music, I almost miss you tracking mud through my carpets.  
I will watch for you in the spring,  
Ever yours,  
Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo,  
Old Toby still tastes bad. I do not know how you can smoke it at all. Bombur and Bifur and the family send love. The little ones ask about you. The mines here are good and the rock is good and seeing family is good but there is no you and that is bad. I will come to see you as soon as I can.  
Your Bofur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bofur’s letter uses very simple words and phrasing. As someone who struggled with writing all through my youth I am achingly familiar with the feeling of wanting to communicate something and being unable to write it the way you would say it because you can’t spell the words… I am not trying to make Bofur sound ‘dumb’, I am just remembering how I would hash out every sentence in my head over and over again, making it simpler and simpler until it used only words I could spell.


	6. Like Opal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I wrote any Boffins. I had this one in mind before I even started Axe, but it never quite wrote. 
> 
> I'm not sure I'm entirely pleased with how it turned out, but please enjoy!

 

I love him, my Hobbit, my Bilbo. 

He is like opal, soft and fragile, delicate pale and pink, but under the right light containing fascinating depths that you would never imagine were there. 

I could spend the rest of my life exploring those depths. I will spend the rest of his. 

There are some who say that I do not love him as a Dwarf ought, because we do not live together always. He stays mostly in his Shire and I wander between the Blue Mountains and Erebor visiting him when I can. 

I do, I _do_ love him like a Dwarf. In my heart I would lock him away in the deepest part of a mountain, dress him in the finest of gold and mithril and gems, guard him and keep him all for myself and no one else.

It would kill him.

There are some who say that I chose him for convenience. 

No, no it is _not_ convenient. It never was. It was not _convenient_ to fall in love in the middle of a half-mad quest to slay a dragon. It is not convenient to love someone who cannot live where I am happiest, delving deep under the rock – who is happiest where I am driven mad with stifling safe polite boredom. It is not convenient to love someone younger than me, who will die of old age before I do.

I love him, truly and fully, even if there is nothing easy about us.

I mined opal once, prizing the milky stones from the rock. Opals are not hardy stones like sapphires or emeralds, diamonds or rubies, but they are no less beautiful and precious for it. They must be treated carefully. Mistreated the stone can warp and split. It is alive, more than any other stone. It breathes. Settings must be designed carefully so the stone does not fall out when it changes size. 

Yet, treated right, and in the right setting, and under the right light, Opal is the most precious and beautiful of gems. 

I love him, my Bilbo, like opal. The Shire is his setting, soft green hills wrapped around him. I do not fit in his setting but I can visit, I can see him in it – where he is safe and happy and beautiful. 

And sometimes – Nori laughed so hard when I told him – sometimes I am a thief, and I prize my Bilbo out of his setting and I see him under different light. I see him deep beneath the mountains, and wandering through harder lands with my braids in his hair and his little Elvish knife on his side. Every different light reveals more of him, more depth, fire and bravery that would never have been seen in his Shire, and I love every piece of him that I see. 

He is so much stronger than he seems, but in the end he is opal and he must be returned to his setting before he breaks, to rest and recover. 

Opal is soft and fragile, requiring great care in the mining and the polishing and the setting, but if treated right it is the most precious and beautiful of gems, with depths you could not imagine. 

I love him, my Hobbit, my Bilbo...

like opal. 


End file.
